


Torment and Trickery

by starlightwalking



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (sauron is pretending to be them), Angband, Background Relationships, Crispy Amrod, Dissociation, Emotional Manipulation, Illusions, Incest, M/M, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Minor Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Minor Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon, Non-Consensual, Physical Abuse, Poor Maedhros, Psychological Torture, Rape, Sauron Being an Asshole, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Coercion, Shapeshifting, Torture, Victim Blaming, fingon & amrod not actually present, russingon used to hurt maedhros, sauron doing horrible things to maedhros, sauron is using every nasty trick in the book and then writing in some new ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24158554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: Maitimo has grown used to Þauron taking the shape of his beloved for his awful games, but Findekáno isn’t the only person he knows how to mimic.
Relationships: Maedhros | Maitimo/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	Torment and Trickery

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE HEED THE TAGS.
> 
> This is not a happy fic, it’s the most messed up thing I have ever written, Þauron is very evil and forces Mae to do things he would never do. Mae is absolutely the victim here, even when he feels like it’s all his fault, it's all Þauron.  
> idk if I really think this happened in canon, probably not, I usually like to take a vague “unspeakable horrors” approach wrt Angband, and this is about the worst thing I can imagine happening to him.
> 
> i wrote this bc i couldn’t get the idea to leave me and i was upset the other night, i feel better having gotten it out of my head. **please please please take care of yourself if you choose to read on.**
> 
> this is so not my usual thing, i don’t really know how graphic it is? there’s descriptions of what’s happening but it’s mostly mae’s thoughts as he endures this awful thing.  
> uh. trigger warnings are mostly covered in the tags? there’s also mentions of sauron and morgoth using maedhros like a toy. and there’s a paragraph diversion where mae remembers sauron creating the illusion of having his cock bitten off. jesus this is fucked up. both of those things are in parentheses and can be skipped.
> 
> again PLEASE be careful of the tags and take care of yourself!

"Maitimo, please, I've missed you," moaned Findekáno, wrapping himself around Maitimo's torso, squeezing him tight, so tight he couldn't breathe. "It's been so long—I've been so alone—please, won't you take me? Won't you let us be one, again? I want to feel you inside me, strong and real and warm—I've been so _cold_ without you—"

Maitimo closed his eyes to Findekáno's pleading, trying to shut it out, out, out—the cloying, the clinging, the crying. It all felt so _real_ , and yet so _not_ —Finno, _his_ Finno, would not beg—or at least not like this—or would he? If Maitimo survived this torment to see his beloved again—the real Findekáno, not the Úmaia in his skin that clutched him too tight—he would be changed, scarred, broken. Would Finno not be altered, also?

"Please, Russo," Findekáno begged, his grip about Maitimo's frail ribcage only tightening, " _please_ , fuck me! I need it, need _you_ , need to feel good again, feel whole..."

Maitimo didn't fight: it would be useless to do so, he knew from experience. But he did not give in, either, as had once when the pain was too great. He would not greet the Deceiver with a kiss, sloppy and violent; he would not pin the shifting figure against the wall of his cell and take him dry; no—he would not initiate it. That only delayed the inevitable horror, only gave his captor more fodder for the visions and nightmares. But he didn't struggle, didn't push Findekáno away, didn't bother to hide the damning hardness between his legs.

Þauron would get his way, no matter what.

He let the false Findekáno constrict his chest, arms wrapped tight around him with more strength than any Elda could manage, until his breaths turned from ragged to nonexistent, 'til his vision went black even when his eyelids flew open, 'til he saw stars that were not visible this far underground.

_Look, it is Valacirca,_ he thought woozily, like he was pointing out constellations to the Ambarussat, one of them now broken, the other burned and gone.

And then Findekáno released him, and he drew a ragged breath and knew his time had run out.

"Alright," he rasped. "Alright."

Findekáno smirked up at him with lust-dark eyes. "Alright what?" he teased, his voice turned from desperate to sultry in an instant.

"Alright, I'll fuck you." Maitimo said the words dull and flat, while he still could. Þauron would wring every ounce of rebellion and resignment out of him, make him want it and take it and need it, but he didn't have to give in right away.

For a moment not-Finno stared at him, calculating, but the shade behind his shape only shrugged. He knelt down and yanked Maitimo's half-rotted loincloth off him, wasting no time in taking his length into his mouth. Maitimo let him, numb at first but with growing heat, until he felt his hands move to grab Finno's hair and use him, like he had before in Valinórë.

Once, this had been a delight; once, Findekáno had loved to be roughly handled and used, and Maitimo knew it and loved it too. But Þauron had taken those memories, stolen them, twisted them into what he did now—moaning around his cock as Maitimo surrendered and fucked his mouth, none of the warmth present, only heat.

Maitimo almost wished he could come right then—find his release down Þauron's gullet, even if Þauron wanted that, wanted to take more of what should have been Finno's. But the Deceiver never let it go that far, and Maitimo released him the prick of sharp teeth at his groin.

(Þauron had threatened before to bite his whole cock off, had even gone as far to make that illusion seem real—but he had more games that required the real thing, more ways to torture him with a cock than without, so it remained only an illusion. But Maitimo remembered the pain, the threat. And he knew that while Þauron had impeccable self-control, Moringotto was prone to rages. If the Dark Vala thought it would cause him more pain, he would command it—and loyal Þauron, his master's whore, would obey with delight.)

Findekáno released his cock and licked his lips with eyes that glittered a little too much to be real. It was a relief that this time the illusion went no further than Findekáno's visage—there were other times when Tharon's schemes were more intricate, felt more real, stretched longer. This—had no sense to it, for he was still in his cell, still trapped, and Finno had not bothered to explain how he had gotten there. It stung a little less, somehow, to _know_ it was all false, to be aware of the trickery and not fall for it like he had before. But Þauron was wily, and Maitimo was on edge, waiting for whatever new torments awaited him the second he let his guard down.

The false Findekáno bared his ass for Maitimo, already wet and open, the princely clothes he had arrived in vanished. He gave Maitimo an open-mouthed grin, tongue lolling out cheekily, as he lay down in the straw—inviting him in.

Maitimo's cock was hard and flushed, his need burning within, betraying the horror in his heart. It was easier, now, than it had been at first, to separate mind from body as he knelt and sheathed himself in Finno's waiting hole, loose and dripping like he'd been fucked already (and perhaps Þauron _had_ , by Moringotto himself—they used Maitimo between them like a toy, sometimes; he knew far more about what each of them desired than he could ever erase from his memory).

Maitimo sighed in unison with the false Findekáno, the joining of their bodies—hröa and shifting fana—pleasurable despite the sickening context. He let his mind wander, his fëa drift, as instinct overcame him and he thrust in, out, in, out of the pliant, moaning body beneath him.

"Yes, yes, Maitimo!" whined Þauron in a mockery of Finno's voice. "Ah—more, _harder_ , my Russo, lovely one, just like that—ah! Yes, yes!"

Maitimo grunted like an animal as Findekáno wriggled, changing position, and his cock slammed into Finno's prostate. He keened, sounding so like Maitimo's beloved in the throes of passion, that for a moment his sex-addled mind cleared and he thought only of them together as it should be—

But his fëa sought for Findekáno's familiar blazing love, and Þauron could not reach back: their bond could not flare to life as it once had, for this was not Findekáno and would never be. His beloved was safe, far across the sea in Valinórë, hating him, probably, for the burning of the ships. That, at least, was a comfort, to know that Þauron and Moringotto and their Valcaraucar could never touch him, never whip him with their flames or carve open his face or tempt him into evil acts like this—

"Nelyo!" Findekáno sobbed, snapping Maitimo back to the present. The channel around his cock constricted, suddenly tight and raw, driving him wild. This was strange—never before had Þauron made things _harder_ on himself, and Findekáno never called him _Nelyo_. Was Þauron getting sloppy, so close to finding his own release; or—?

"Nelyo, please!" wailed Þauron, and he was not Findekáno anymore. "Please stop—no more—why are you—ah! Why are you hurting me?"

Maitimo could not stop: he was overcome with lust, rage, resentment toward his captor, and so close to his release. His hips moved of their own accord, pounding into an ass that was now too pale, too thin to be Findekáno's. His hole was tighter, rougher, now—gone was the lubricant present for the false Findekáno, the only liquid dripping from it a thin trickle of blood.

Maitimo looked up the the nér's torso, scattered with freckles and the occasional scar, from a hunting accident—the one where he'd cut his forearm instead of a rawhide strap that was tangled in a bush, the shoulder Maitimo had bandaged as Tyelko mother-henned and scolded him—he saw the ratty auburn hair, only a shade darker than his brother's, that Maitimo could never get him to brush enough, those green eyes spread wide with pain, fear, betrayal—

"Nelyo, what did I do?" wailed Ambarto, and Maitimo felt his gorge rise as he slammed into his youngest brother one last time and came inside him, releasing his seed from his traitorous cock and vomit from his whimpering mouth at once, Þauron's latest deception haunting him as he blacked out.

For as long as he lived Maitimo would never forget the look in Ambarto's eyes as he raped him, he who should have been saved, protected, sheltered, not violated by his eldest brother. That was the last time Maitimo saw him—the real Ambarto had burned at Losgar within the belly of a boat identical to the rest, but this façade matched him in every detail. Even after everything—after his rescue and recovery and learning to trust and love and hope with with Findekáno, the _real_ , valiant, noble, ever-too-good-for-him Findekáno, even after losing him and going mad and living in the wild and slaughtering innocents—

Even after all that, Maedhros could not look at the elder twin without horror, without shame, without dread and guilt and pity. It was only when the second Ambarussa lay dying at Sirion, his blood staining the river red, a broken smile on his face as he left to join the other half of his soul at last—only then could Maedhros look him in the eye and say with that final glance all his love and regret and remorse for what he had done, how he had failed the boys, in so many ways but especially this one.

And if Ambarussa knew—both or either—they never said. But Maedhros knew: he knew even though it was all a trick of Þauron, he knew forever and ever that he was the monster who could not stop even when begged by his babiest brother.

**Author's Note:**

> i felt so bad hurting my boy like this that i wrote another, much lighter fic with him and elros, you can check that out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24158548). and bc that turned out more bittersweet than fluffy, here's a [soft russingon fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23195581) ft. nb!mae i wrote awhile back, it’s hurt/comfort but full of love.


End file.
